Boredom
by Cinomarsh
Summary: Mrs. Lovett is working and wants someone to talk to.


**Hello once again! This is just a fun little one-shot that I wrote a couple das ago. Enjoy! Don't own Sweeney, obviously.**

Mrs. Lovett walked down to the bakehouse, cleaver in hand. It was late, or at least late enough for Toby to be in bed. Mrs. Lovett wished she could be in bed, too. It had been a very busy day, but she had work to do.

It hadn't been as busy a day for Mr. Todd, apparently, and for that the baker-turned-criminal was thankful. There weren't as many bodies lying in a heap next to the chute as usual, which meant less work for her and more time to sleep. She began to drag the first body closer to the oven so she could see him better.

She'd seen this one walk up to the shop; she recognized him from the fancy clothes he wore. He'd smiled at her while climbing the stairs. She'd assumed he was a fop or something of the sort, pompous and arrogant probably, but still. He'd smiled at her. She felt a little twinge of guilt when she thought of what she was about to do to him, but she pushed it away, just like she always did.

She studied his face after dragging him to an appropriate spot. He was younger than he seemed, she decided. His eyes were open, which was usually a bit unsettling, but his were a lovely hazel color. His face, however, was twisted into a permanent expression of fear and confusion. Mrs. Lovett frowned a little and kneeled down next to the body.

Without really knowing why she was doing it, she leaned down, raised the arm holding the cleaver, and brought it down on the man's neck. She lifted the severed head up by the hair and studied it. It seemed to stare back, dangling like some sort of morbid Christmas decoration.

She set it down next to her, deciding that it would keep her company while she worked. She raised the cleaver above the now-headless body again, ready to actually start working, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw it again. Staring at her.

She sighed, lowered her arm and turned to look at it. The hair on its head had been very well kept a while ago, but now it was dirty and disorderly. Mrs. Lovett looked around her for the top hat the man had worn when she'd seen him alive. She saw it by the other bodies, grabbed it and put it on the head. The head was still a gruesome sight, but now it also had a touch of class. The woman chuckled just slightly to herself.

She raised her arm for a third time, but was once again distracted by the horrified expression that the man- no, the head- wore. She dropped her arm again, he cleaver clanging on the floor.

"Don't look at me like that." She ordered it. "It's distracting."

She paused. The head, of course, said nothing.

"You must think I'm terrible," She sighed, "But I'm not! And neither is Mr. Todd, not really. But I need the meat and this is the best way to get it."

Still no answer. Mrs. Lovett acknowledged that she was having a conversation with a severed head, but continued anyways.

"I know, I know, killing people and selling them to other people as food is wrong but he was gonna kill people anyways! I mean, I suppose I could've told the law or at least not let him live here, but..." She trailed off.

But what?

She looked around, making sure no one was listening. She leaned a bit closer to the head.

"Can you keep a secret?" She asked. She took the silence as a yes.

"Alright, well that man upstairs, you know, the one who..." Mrs. Lovett made a slashing motion across her throat with her finger. "Well I'm in love with him. He doesn't care, but I've done a lot to keep him here. I need him. You ever been in love?"

Silence again.

"Well if you have, then you know that when you love someone then you can't let them go, no matter what. And if I stop doing things like this," she motioned around the bakehouse, "then he won't need me anymore. He'll leave, or worse, I'll end up like you."

She paused for dramatic effect.

"So I do hope you understand. And thank you for being such a good listener. I really don't have a lot of-"

She was cut off by the sound of the bakehouse door opening, followed by Mr. Todd's footsteps as he entered the room. Mrs. Lovett felt the familiar buzz of happiness she felt whenever she saw him, despite the fact that he was surveying the scene before him with a mixture of confusion and contempt.

He could tell what she'd been doing, and she knew it. Without saying a word he walked to the oven, opened the door, grabbed the head and threw it inside, hat and all. The woman winced. The barber glared at her before stalking out of the room.

Mrs. Lovett stared after him sadly. He couldn't let her have any fun, could he?


End file.
